Rarum in Sanguinem
by Rainsaber
Summary: d'Artagnan decides one morning that he's had enough of losing those he loves. Unfortunately for him, he's got two friends, a potential lover, and an adamant superior fighting in his corner, which is more than any Theta has had before him. Expanded Alpha/Omega-verse. d'Artagnan/Athos.
1. Chapter 1

**Rarum in Sanguinem**

 **Summary:** d'Artagnan decides one morning that he's had enough of losing those he loves. Unfortunately for him, he's got two friends, a potential lover, and an adamant superior fighting in his corner, which is more than any Theta has had before him. Expanded Alpha/Omega-verse. d'Artagnan/Athos.

 **A/N:** Translation of the title is roughly 'A Rarity in the Blood.' Below is a brief description of the universe I've come up with. This goes a little beyond your simple alpha/omega relationships. Also, I'm calling these types inclinations. One more note about canon: this is going off the fact that d'Artagnan did face and defeat LaBarge, but was not immediately awarded with a commission-hence the disappointment which leads to where this story starts off.

Alphas – dominant personalities.

Omegas – submissive personalities.

Betas – an equal mix of dominant and submissive tendencies.

Gammas – Asexual, philosophical and politically minded.

Sigmas – Bloodthirsty, sado-masochistic manipulators.

Epsilons – provocative submissives, creative, never the type to do anything twice.

Theta – unpredictable, occasionally volatile, untamable by nature, and also naturally attract danger. The most rare of any type of inclination or personality because of a short life expectancy.

 **Warnings:** Sexual content, eventual non-consensual and consensual situations, action, and lots of angst.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I just borrow because I'm bored and I need the writing exercise.

* * *

-To Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers

It has been my utmost pleasure and honor to have served under your command, even for so short a time. Given different circumstances, I would happily and honorably continue my service to you and his majesty until my dying day, but duty calls me home to tend to what remains of my family estate. Please understand that I did not lie to you when I said all of my affairs were in order, but my fears of bringing further trouble to my duties within the regiment have turned my feet homeward. Please give my regards to the others and impress onto them my deepest gratitude for their friendship. Should I be fortunate enough to see them again someday, I should hope it will be under better circumstances and with no history of ill feeling. Forgive me.

Your most humble servant,

-Charles d'Artagnan

Treville looked up at his men who stood before him. Aramis, Porthos, and Athos all bore similar expressions of shock, indignation, and anger. For one moment he took a deep breath and exhaled, slamming the letter down on his desk after he was done. "It's the biggest load of bollocks I've read in quite a long time," the captain growled.

"I said it first," Porthos muttered.

Aramis shot him a glare. "I thought it first," he whispered back.

"We _all_ share the same sentiment, captain," Athos drawled, giving both Aramis and Porthos a warning glance.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Treville stood and walked to his armoire, opening it with a key and sifting through a mess of sorted papers. "All of you, it is now your sole responsibility to go after d'Artagnan and bring him back. God as my witness I won't let go of a soldier as good as him without a bloody fight, no matter how foolhardy and stupid he is, or what duress he's possibly been subjected to."

Porthos took a step forward. "You think someone got to 'im?"

"The cardinal, perhaps," Athos postulated.

"It certainly would not be the first time," Aramis agreed. "But whether it is true or not, d'Artagnan is not even a musketeer yet, respectfully speaking, of course. I hardly think the boy will be inclined to return without the promise of anything less than a full commission, if he is in dire financial or personal straits."

"He'll have it. It's been long overdue. Athos," he said, approaching the man with a sealed letter. "This is for the boy's eyes alone. Bring him back. He belongs here. I won't accept anything less than a face to face apology for this horse shit excuse of a resignation."

Athos raised an eyebrow, none too keen on the idea of forcing d'Artagnan into something he did not wish for. That was often the consequence bound omegas suffered under dominating alphas. And d'Artagnan was by no means a dependent omega. "Do you expect us to drag the boy back if he does not wish to come of his own volition?

"By whatever means necessary, I do, but do _not_ chain him. He's no omega to be bound to the will of a stronger inclination. Some still adhere to the old days of King Henry, but I do not."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Porthos said, paling at the mere mention, having suffered a chaining when he was a child by lesser-educated inclinations. Though the chaining had been premature, before he had come into his own alpha nature, it has still left a mark upon him. Aramis rested a comforting hand at the small of the man's back and Porthos shot him a grateful glance.

"Go now. He'll have a day's head start on you, but perhaps you'll be able to catch him up before he reaches Gascony."

"Come hell or high water," Athos muttered to himself, as the three of them left the captain's office without wasting another second. Aramis and Porthos kept any further comments to themselves, smelling Athos' anger and the wildness in him that had been set loose once he learned that not only was the boy gone, but of his own volition.

Athos didn't speak another word to either man once they left the garrison. He could feel himself churning on the inside, like a ball untethered by a wind storm. He hadn't felt this unsettled since Anne… and he didn't like its return one little bit.

d'Artagnan had a lot to answer for.

* * *

d'Artagnan knelt down in the unkempt grass, picking away weeds as the wind tossed his unruly hair. Then he laid the wildflowers in front of his mother's grave, arranging them in a vibrant fan of color like he used to do when he was a boy. God knew how much he wanted his father buried next to her, but to do so, he'd need time, money, and a priest. None of those things were within his immediate grasp, and none from the nearby town seemed too eager to help him once he turned up again. His father had few friends, and of those friends that remained, all seemed to be too preoccupied with their own affairs and that of the town's.

d'Artagnan certainly hadn't gotten a warm welcome when he returned. It had even been too difficult to buy flowers for his mother's grave, so he resorted to picking them himself from the wild. Though Gascony was his home, the stark difference with which his kind was treated out here in the country compared to the almost-normalcy he'd been able to experience in Paris was staggering. He was either a very good liar or people in the city were simply more accepting. Oddly enough, he felt more homesick now at home than he had felt in Paris longing to see his farm again, or what remained of it after the fire.

He hadn't told any of his friends, but the stress and strain of maintaining his family farm prior to the burning at the hands of LaBarge had worn him thin. He'd had whole groups of workers quit at once, then when he'd managed to hire more and they'd find out about his family, he'd barely be given a week before he'd be at the task again. Not only that but he had civil cases pending against him for only a week's worth of pay when there was no crop to show for it. Luckily, he'd been able to avoid any legal entanglements since his return, so far. He didn't like the idea of running or hiding. But all he wanted was some peace to grieve, the kind of peace he hadn't had a single moment for since he gave into his childhood desire to one day become a musketeer. He'd heard of Thetas having to start their lives over in different countries, how it didn't last for long, but that it at least provided some kind of thrill before the inevitable. Why not dream big and go out with a bang? Live life to the fullest? After all, it was how his kind lived and died. d'Artagnan would only be living up to example.

The Gascon hadn't given much thought as to where he might go, should he decide to go on the run, but he knew he couldn't quit France without at least trying to put things back in order. His father had run into this issue several times before in d'Artagnan's youth and somehow his father always managed to pay the workers and find others who would stay for more than a week at a time. Mostly that depended on him and his father having to tend to the fields themselves, but they had managed. They had made it work. So, why couldn't he seem to figure it out?

d'Artagnan hadn't even seen what remained of the farm yet and he was dreading it. There likely wouldn't be much of anything to salvage, if anything at all. He'd heard a local priest had doused the fire in the house before the entire structure could be consumed, and for that he was thankful, but he had no hopes that it would still be livable. Frankly, he'd spent so many nights out under the stars that it would not bother him much if his old room no longer had a ceiling. But it was all he had left of his family home. His childhood. His parents. It didn't feel right to abandon it to ruin.

He laid a kiss on his mother's grave before he stood up and wearily trudged over to his horse. The ride to the farm was slow, and many a passer-by gave him wary looks, some surprised which soon turned to scorn. When he was finally greeted with an innocent smile, he'd come across so many looks of suspicion until that point that he couldn't help but be suspicious himself. Finally, when he crested the hill that overlooked the small valley in which his farm lay, he pulled the horse up short.

It was worse than a punch in the gut. He felt like LaBarge was squeezing the life out of him all over again. He almost wished there was nothing left to see in the place of this torched shell. Anger churned in his gut the closer he got, when he was better able to catalogue the damage. Half the roof was gone. The windows were broken and the frames charred black. The front door was charred as well, split down the middle from the heat, but still sound enough to stand a gentle push open.

d'Artagnan took one small step over the threshold and swept as calculating a gaze as he could manage without dissolving into tears. His mother's hope chest had suffered little damage, but had been rifled through and overturned, the precious contents long gone. The military swords that hung above the mantle, two identical swords that had been gifted to his grandfather many years back, were also gone. Some of his mother's dishware lay broken in shattered pieces on the floor, his father's harvest logs were at the bottom of the hearth with the rest of the ash, his old wooden toys his father had carved for him were hacked to pieces-

His knees suddenly went weak. He fell into the wall next to him, jarring his shoulder, as he slid down to the floor. Tears only broke free after d'Artagnan squeezed his eyes shut. Even with his eyes closed, the carnage of what had once been his peaceful home, a place full of so many happy memories, was seared in his mind. Not even the memory of his parents could soothe his turbulent state. This was all he had left in the world, and to see it not just lost but actively destroyed, as if someone had planned just how to hurt him should he ever return, burned a gaping hole in his heart.

It was some time before he found the strength to stand again. When he did, he didn't wipe his face dry, nor did he make a noise. He simply trudged over to the fireplace and cleaned out the ash. He didn't even stop to remove his uniform, and by the time the task was done, he was dirty from head to toe. He pulled his leathers off and piled them on what remained of the corner bench. He would clean them properly later. He swept, cleaned, and made piles of what was to be trashed and what could be salvaged. His search of the rest of the house turned up a few blankets, one unripped pillow, and a small treasure that gave his bleeding heart a little balm. His mother's wedding band had fallen beneath the armoire, hidden by a bunch of feathers from the slashed mattress and pillows. It was a simple band of silver, but with laurel leaves engraved along the length.

He had cried silent tears of joy upon it's discovery and kissed it before pocketing the treasure. It had meant the world to his father after his mother had died. Sometimes he even wore it beneath his shirt on a leather cord, but for some reason, he did not have it on him the morning they left for Paris. d'Artagnan had wondered why and only asked him after they had put Gascony far behind them. His father's easy answer of bandits seemed empty somehow, but he had accepted it then. Now, with the ring back in his possession, he almost wondered whether his father had known it would be safer to leave it home, as if fate would ensure it would not be lost forever.

It was a fantasy, of course, but one that d'Artagnan took to heart anyway.

The barn was no better, but no worse than the house. All of his father's tools had been stolen. Spare equipment for the horses gone as well. But whoever the culprits had been they had left the hay where d'Artagnan had last remembered leaving it the night before he and his father left. He spread some down for his own horse and grabbed a pail on his way out, intent on walking through the forest instead of going to the town well for water. When he stepped back out into the cool evening, he found he wasn't alone.

Stephan Machart, a childhood friend, had ridden up and was dismounting in haste. Was there trouble? Had Stephan come to warn him? Either way, the presence of a friend, no matter the temperament, was welcome. But before d'Artagnan could extend that warm welcome Stephan approached with decisive steps and pulled out a short musket, aiming it right at d'Artagnan's head without hesitation.

"Into the barn," his friend said. "Now. And quietly."

d'Artagnan gaped in disbelief. "Stephan-"

"NOW, I said! And release the horse."

d'Artagnan was about to argue, but one murderous look from his so called friend had him reluctantly releasing the poor beast to the back pasture. He could only hope the horse was too tired to go too far, but he had a dark feeling it wouldn't matter where the horse ended up. After he released the horse, d'Artagnan raised both of his hands and led the way into the skeletal remains of the half-torched barn.

"That's far enough."

"What are you going to do, Stephan," d'Artagnan asked, turning to face the man and suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Shoot me? You're not a murderer. That's not even your musket-"

"Don't you dare turn this into a joke-"

" _Monsieur,_ I am far from it!" D'Artagnan clenched his fists together and took a small step forward. "This is my home! You threaten me on _my land_ and expect me to-"

"This isn't your land anymore. It's back where it belongs, with the true people that have tilled it long before your cursed family ever set down in these parts."

"If it is no longer mine, then why are the lands still in such disrepair?"

"Because they're cursed!"

" _I'm no curse!_ And to hear such horse shit from _you_ of all people _-!"_

An explosion of pain sent d'Artagnan to the ground. He cradled the side of his face with his hand and felt blood where the butt of Stephan's pistol made contact with his cheekbone. He looked up, not entirely surprised, but with unveiled betrayal and hurt. Stephan had been one of his biggest supporters growing up, and now he stood over d'Artagnan seething in rage, much like the bullies of his youth had done.

"Stephan, you were my friend for so many years…why?"

Stephan cocked the pistol and kept a steady aim. "You're a bloody Theta! You've been trouble ever since you were born-since we were boys. You've gotten people killed, Charles-Isn't that enough?! All we've paid at your expense?! This was a peaceful place after you left. You've got no one to blame but yourself for our misfortunes! I dare you to challenge me on that!"

"Was all the time we spent as boys a lie? You've always known what I was. You defended me from this town instead of feeding me to the wolves!"

"And what did that do for my family?!"

d'Artagnan closed his eyes and ignored the terrible sinking feeling in his heart. "Is this about Henri?"

"Don't," Stephan whispered with a cold glare. "Don't you dare, Charles."

"I wish every single day it had been me, Stephan," he whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I _wanted_ it to be me, but Henri wouldn't let me-"

"Shut up! Don't say his name again or I swear to God above I will kill you!"

"I loved him," d'Artagnan cried, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Was that a crime?!"

"Yes! Because you _killed_ him! Because of _what_ you are," Stephan exploded. "You don't think we're ignorant of what became of your father months ago?"

D'Artagnan stumbled back against the back wall of the stall and clamped his shaking jaw shut. Tears spilled forth but he didn't have the energy to stop them. He felt a faint pain in his hands from his rock-hard fists, but paid it no mind. The pain grounded him as he fell to his knees under the weight of all his old pains resurfacing.

"I thought you would be different, Charles," Stephan said. "I wanted _so much_ for you to be different! I even prayed for you! But you've been nothing but a disappointment. You know why I have to do this. You're to blame for all our troubles and it needs to stop here and now."

"Perhaps I do deserve to die," d'Artagnan whispered. "But my parents raised me to believe that I am _not_ to blame for what I am."

After a long while of staring Stephan down, silently challenging him to get it over and done with while he still had the courage with the musket in his face, Stephan relaxed, just a little. "You're right," he allowed. " _They_ are for letting you live. "

Just as d'Artagnan was about to hasten his own demise and rush Stephan for daring to make such an accusation, he stilled at the sound of three pistols cocking behind Stephan.

"I would suggest, sir, that you kindly take yourself far from this estate before you become acquainted with bullets courtesy of His Majesty's Musketeers."

"Well-trained marksmen, Athos. You forgot that bit."

"Aye, and _pissed off_ too."

Stephan paled and tried to collect himself as he turned around and faced Athos, Porthos, and Aramis with muskets aimed at him. "Th-this is a private matter-"

Athos discharged his musket at Stephan's feet, which caused the man to jump back. "I believe I just gave you a gift. But I cannot say that you will be so lucky with a sharpshooter like Aramis, nor a man of Porthos' caliber. Do you want to live?"

Stephan paled and reluctantly dropped his pistol, giving d'Artagnan one final dark look. "This isn't over." Then he turned and swiftly made for his horse and left like the wind.

While Porthos watched Stephan's retreat, Athos wasted no time and dropped to d'Artagnan's side. "Are you alright?"

d'Artagnan nodded, not finding the strength to speak.

Athos touched the side of d'Artagnan's face and the boy winced. "Aramis," he called when his fingers came away with blood.

The medic in Aramis immediately took over as soon as he caught sight of the extent of the injury. "Might be a fractured cheekbone, but I can't tell in this light. Otherwise I just need to clean the blood and access the bruising. It'll be your most colorful yet, I think."

d'Artagnan couldn't even find the strength to smile, much less give a worded response. He felt relief, but his emotional reunion with someone he had been proud to call a friend at one time had left him drained and a little weak. Aramis gently pried his fists open and inspected the deep crescents in his palms. Only a few of them in his right hand actually drew blood, but Aramis gave him a handkerchief all the same and quietly instructed him to press down to staunch it. To his credit, he obeyed without question.

"Shall we into the house," Athos asked softly.

"Or what's left of it?" Porthos added. "Dunno which is better, the house or the barn."

"We should keep watch and make sure no one else returns tonight," Aramis added.

"If that's your way of asking if I'll take first watch," Athos grunted. "You've wasted your breath."

Athos and Aramis supported him from either side and led him into his family's humble house. d'Artagnan was still in somewhat of a daze. Porthos took care of lighting a fire in the front room while Athos settled him down in a salvaged chair and Aramis went in search of some drink and food, which didn't last more than a few unsurprised but undeterred minutes.

"It's a good thing we came prepared," Aramis said, bringing out the food rations they spent the time to buy early that morning a few towns away. "You said nothing about being in such disrepair. This makes Athos' chateau look hospitable!"

"Couldn't tell you," d'Artagnan mumbled.

"What was that," Athos asked.

d'Artagnan pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before continuing. "I couldn't bring myself to tell you. It was too much… and there was never enough time to sit and talk, let alone think about it."

"Oi," Porthos said, sofly, getting the boy's attention with ease. "We'd make time for you."

"Readily," Aramis added.

"Although," Athos drawled. "Were we about to be immediately tortured, exploited, or on the occasion put to death, I'd imagine those would not be the most opportune of times for a discussion."

d'Artagnan smirked. "Hence the lack of time." but his mirth didn't last for long. He winced and put a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and biting back a groan.

Aramis frowned. "Headache?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan hissed.

"Does it come and go or is it constant?"

"Constant."

Aramis approached and placed both hands on the sides of d'Artagnan's head, pressing in on points which garnered lots of groaning and cursing on the boy's part. "How long?"

"Since yesterday…"

Aramis frowned, but took his hands away. "And it's constant?"

d'Artagnan made a pitiful noise of confirmation. Athos offered him his water skin and the boy took a couple of gulps before passing it back.

"Steady throbbing all over your body or just in your head?"

"All over."

Aramis leaned over and put a hand to d'Artagnan's forehead and leaned close to smell his hair. d'Artagnan pulled away with a wince and a curse, arms flailing in surprise.

"Aramis," Athos chided. "You know better-"

Ignoring Athos completely, Aramis rounded on the seated boy. "And so does he! You really are an idiot, you know. You've got a fever."

"I'm not sick," d'Artagnan groaned.

"No, you aren't. You've got a _repressed_ fever! How long have you been doing this to yourself? I can barely smell you!"

"My sexual proclivities are my own business, Aramis," d'Artagnan said, putting on his best Athos impression. "I know you like to think of yours as public knowledge, but I have no mind to ever be an exhibitionist."

Porthos laughed so loud d'Artagnan could only whimper and cover his ears.

Aramis rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand at the boy while Athos, the only one with any empathy, pulled up a stool and sat himself right in front of d'Artagnan. "Lean down," he commanded softly.

d'Artagnan obeyed, propping his arms on his legs.

Athos sank his fingers down on the tendons between d'Artagnan's shoulders and neck. The boy yelped in pain and jerked, ready to put up a fight, but Athos didn't overstep his boundaries and began to knead the tension away. He couldn't help but moan as the pressure in his head abated. A reassuring cloud of warmth hovered over him. It didn't penetrate his senses, but stayed at a respectable distance that could still be of some use. Athos' hands still lay on d'Artagnan's shoulders. He had every right to shrug them off, but found the weight of the physical touch grounding.

"There are cures for such ailments," the man reminded. "Cures that need no bodily contracts."

d'Artagnan shook his head gently. "None hold any interest to me."

"Have they ever?"

"Once," the boy sighed. "But that was a long time ago. When I was a different person."

When d'Artagnan didn't elaborate, Porthos came to stand behind a still seated Athos. "Well? We ain't going nowhere…"

The boy smiled sadly to himself and dropped his gaze as he muttered, "Not yet."

* * *

 **A/N: Not sure how long this will be, but definitely less than ten chapters. Five if I can manage it! Hope you enjoyed reading!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just an age note for d'Artagnan. I'm going with the fact that he's about twenty at the time he left for Paris with his father and when he left to return to Gascony at the start of this story.**

Three years ago…

 _He slipped around the back of the barn, deftly avoiding the old man on watch who passed by with a creaking lantern. He kid in the brush for another five minutes to be absolutely sure no one would come after the old man before darting through an opening in the back of the Machart's barn. Almost immediately upon crossing the threshold there were hands on him, pinning him up against the back wall and covering his lips. He didn't struggle. He listened. A stable boy was busy cleaning and locking up for the night._

 _Charles and Henri watched from the shadows as the stable boy finally took his lantern from the peg of the center post and exited the barn, pulling the stable doors closed and fixing the lock into place. They waited until they could no longer hear footsteps. Then Henri took his hand away from Charles' mouth. Henri gripped the underside of his jaw and buried his nose into Charles' neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses up toward his ear._

" _Do you think you can be quiet," Henri rasped in Charles' ear._

" _You know I can't make those kind of promises," Charles replied._

 _Henri groaned and wrenched himself away._

 _Charles followed._

 _They carefully and quietly climbed to the loft. Henri started to clear a section toward the back from the hay, but Charles grabbed his hips from behind. Henri stilled, feeling Charles' arousal just grace the underside of his breeches. Henri was a head taller than the d'Artagnan boy, and a few years older, which never ended well when it came to teasing. Ever since he has his first heat, he has yearned for the boys affections, desperate to commit the theta's scent to memory and to claim it, if he could. He had heard a theta's scent could never be claimed, that all others scents, even an alpha's, eventually yielded to the corruptive power of a theta's._

 _And it only took a single night of Charles' heating cycle to understand why._

 _Charles tugged the edges of Henri's shirt out of his breeches. "Just what do you think you are doing?"_

 _Henri bent forward a little bit and reached to grab Charles between his own legs. "I thought you liked it rough?"_

 _Charles tried to stifle a moan of his own, but Henri caught it before the boy gained control of himself. "Not all the time."_

 _Henri released Charles and turned around to face him. "So, what do you want?"_

" _It's your cycle. What do you want of me?"_

" _You're just as close to starting your own. Maybe we can give it a little encouragement tonight?"_

 _Charles smirked at him in the dark. "You can try."_

 _After that, they were a hot tangle of limbs, lost in the hay, and in each other, like all the nights before._

* * *

"The man who confronted you," Aramis commented from the window. "Did you say his name was Stephen Machart?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan replied. "His family supported mine throughout my childhood. Our fathers served together in Paris for a time. But after Henri died… everything was different."

"Was Henri Stephen's brother," Athos asked.

d'Artagnan nodded. "Stephen worshipped him."

Porthos leaned forward, his arms propped up on his legs. "Had Stephen ever threatened you or your father before?"

"Never," the Gascon said shaking his head.

Aramis made a noncommittal noise as he shifted his weight against the wall by the window. "I knew a Machart in my days with the priesthood. Met his family right before I left and joined the guard. They were all quite soft-spoken. I was a little surprised when you told me his name. That scent anyone would recognize from a mile away."

"All of us smelled it riding up the road and hoped we were wrong," Porthos recounted. "Bit surprised seeing him after all that. Wouldn't have pegged that little shit for a sig."

d'Artagnan frowned. "A what?"

"A sigma," Athos explained. "People typically are not born into that distinct inclination, as I doubt Stephen was, but the anger we felt was quite worrisome. It was clear it had been brewing for a long time."

"I thought… I thought there were only ever alphas and omegas," D'Artagnan said. "And that others were…well, wishful thinking."

Aramis snickered. "Is that what they teach you children down here?"

"Perhaps that is indeed how things are taught here in the south," Athos said. "That is not for us to judge."

"It is if it's bloody wrong and stupid," Porthos exclaimed. "Just because Aramis ain't like you or me don't mean he doesn't exist!"

Aramis turned to face Porthos with an affronted look at being so casually outted. " _Thank you_!"

"Oh," Porthos said with a faint blush. "Sorry, mate."

D'Artagnan turned to Aramis in surprise. "You're not an alpha?"

"Heavens, no," he said with a smirk. "I prefer to walk the middle line and experience pleasures from both walks of life. I am a beta."

"But you two," D'Artagnan asked of Athos and Porthos. "You're both alphas?"

Both men nodded.

"Is that all there are, then? Alphas, Omegas, Betas…and Sigmas?"

Aramis smiled at him. "Oh to be so innocent once again."

D'Artagnan glared. "Most wouldn't call it innocent."

Athos interjected. "We can hardly blame you. You came from the country, where everything is conditioned to be black and white, and no doubt easier to manage out here. City life is much different, and more difficult to adjust to with so many different inclinations in such a crowded place as Paris. Surely you smelled the diversity?"

d'Artagnan sat back, crossing his arms and telling himself it was for warmth. "Like I said, wishful thinking."

"I trust you see that is no longer so," Athos asked.

"Obviously," the boy replied with a faint blush of embarrassment. "What else are there?"

"Gammas. A few Epsilons if you know where to look," Porthos said with a wink. "But things are always changing, like people do. Sometimes people can be two inclinations at the same time. Haven't come across many, but it happens. Just not out in the open."

"We're all on the spectrum," Aramis said claiming a seat next to Porthos. "It's just a bigger spectrum than you've been led to believe. Which is also why I left the church years ago. They can be terribly naïve about a lot of things."

"I thought you used to say they were simply traditionalists," Athos asked.

"Was I not just as kind just now?"

Athos smirked.

"Come to think of it," Aramis mused. "That may have accounted for your occasional headaches, especially if you're unbound."

d'Artagnan glared at Aramis. "Whether I'm bound or not is my own business."

Aramis held up his hands in apology. "I'll apologize again if you desire it."

d'Artagnan sighed. "No, it's all fine."

"You are entitled to your own privacy," Athos began with hardening eyes. "But I do not believe you were ever open with us about much of anything beyond your name and home. Regardless, we trusted you. I trusted you. You saved our lives countless times and we have saved yours. Personally, I would very much like to know why you thought it prudent to run away from your forthcoming commission. It did not come directly from the king, but you knew it was imminent after receiving his praise. Treville was not subtle."

d'Artagnan had no answer.

"You've claimed to be an alpha. Fleeing from your accomplishments and friends does not strike me as part of your nature, nor of any alphas I have ever met. In fact, given all the excitement we've experienced since you barreled into our lives, I would wager you are something else entirely."

D'Artagnan swallowed, impulsively wanting to run right that second so he wouldn't see his world come crashing down around him. Athos held his gaze in a vice-like grip, searching him, challenging him, and urging him to say it himself, but d'Artagnan couldn't bring himself to.

"You're a theta," Athos whispered. "Aren't you?"

D'Artagnan couldn't answer. His jaw had clenched shut and he didn't dare look any of them in the eyes when they realized he had lied to them all.

"Well, that explains a lot," Aramis whispered lightly.

"Just a bit," Porthos bit out in frustration and disappointment.

"Why didn't you tell us," Athos asked.

"You know what I am," D'Artagnan snapped, getting to his feet and challenging Athos with a glare of his own. "You should know why I said nothing! Thetas don't live long past maturity, that's a fact, whether you're country-bred or city-born. If I'm going to die, I'd rather do it with a sword in my hand than wait for it to take me in my sleep or drag anyone else down with me."

"Is that what you're doing out here," Athos asked, calmly and a bit cold. " _Protecting us_ by leaving? Running headlong into another problem just to avoid the truth?"

D'Artagnan looked away and put distance between himself and his friends. "You're an alpha. You never have to live in fear for the trouble you cause just by breathing the same air as others."

"That's a bloody falsehood," Aramis started.

"You're not even an alpha," d'Artagnan snapped.

"Even alphas know what it's like to be judged, d'Artagnan," Porthos warned. "Don't go there."

"None of you understand what it's like to live with Theta blood nor all the baggage that comes with it."

"We're still here, aren't we," Aramis pointed out.

"For now."

"Why is that your answer every God damned time we reach out to you," Athos exploded, getting to his own feet and confronting the stubborn Gascon. "What else do we need to do to prove to you that what you are _does not matter?_ "

"What I am has mattered every single day that's passed since my birth. What I am needs to matter, Athos. But for the right reasons."

Athos backed down, but did not move away. Instead he reached into his doublet and pulled out d'Artagnan's commission papers, offering them to him. The Gascon didn't take them, but stared with hungry eyes. Aramis stood and crossed to Athos' side, followed closely by Porthos who took up the other side.

"Treville knows," Aramis said softly. "And he still gave us orders to bring you back."

"He called you one of his best," Porthos added. "Captain don't make statements like that likely. And he's right. You are one of the best. He doesn't discriminate. He never has."

"What about the king," d'Artagnan whispered, finally voicing one of his bigger fears. "I would rather not wake up one morning to the hangman's noose for simply doing my duty."

"That may be the Cardinal's prerogative," Aramis answered. "But it certainly isn't ours, Treville's, or the king's. He's distanced himself quite a bit from his father's reign, and France has flourished under it. He's popular because of it. To continue the witch hunts of his father's time would be political suicide."

d'Artagnan frowned. "He hasn't publically voiced his support."

Aramis held up a finger. "But he hasn't denounced anything either. That is how politics work. And Louis is much sharper than most give him credit for."

"Nothing will come against you without first coming through us," Athos vowed.

d'Artagnan looked down at his feet. "You can't promise that…"

"You said yourself you would rather die with a sword in your hand," Athos reminded him, prodding the commission papers into d'Artagnan's chest. "Wouldn't you rather die with the king's sword in your hand than your own?"

d'Artagnan slowly took the commission papers. He felt the weight of the thick papers in his hands, weighing his options. To his surprise, Porthos clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"If it's Stephen you're thinking about, don't," the big man said. "We don't abandon friends, no matter what."

"It's true," Aramis said, laying his hand on the boy's other shoulder. "And if you need examples, we have plenty to share. Several years worth!"

d'Artagnan was silent, torn between grasping onto the offer like a drowning man and running in the complete opposite direction. He could not fathom being so selfish, to endanger such rare friends like this for his own sake. An outright refusal was on his lips when Athos grabbed his wrist.

"I know it is not something you are used to. But you have no need to protect us. We are seasoned soldiers with our own demons that we have dealt with for years. And over the years, much has been added to the weight. One more will certainly not break our backs, especially if it is shared among four. Let us help you. Let us continue to train you. Let your barriers down for now and let us help you rebuild them."

d'Artagnan hadn't felt such sincerity since before his mother died. And it struck him as he stared into Athos' eyes that he had, once more, what he had lost so suddenly with his father's death. He had a family again. A circle of protection, security, and warmth. He had what he had always dreamed of in his youth. Brothers. He chalked the unshed tears up to being near his next heat cycle, and closed his eyes before they started a waterfall. He dropped his head to hide them, but knew it was useless. All three hands on him tightened. Then he nodded, unable to speak.

But Athos was unyielding. He put a gentle hand on the back of d'Artagnan's neck and urged him to look up. "Say it. Out loud."

Once he got his breathing under control, d'Artagnan was able to finally choke the words out. "I accept."When he dared look up at Athos, the man had on a rare smile. The sight of it struck right at the core of d'Artagnan's heart and sent tingles all across his body.

"Welcome back, brother," Athos said.

Aramis and Porthos echoed the same. After that, Aramis and Porthos disappeared upstairs. Porthos to bed and Aramis to the first watch. d'Artagnan was about to follow them, but Athos held him back.

"Treville asked that we deliver this to you as well," he said, handing d'Artagnan a sealed letter.

The boy looked at the seal and frowned, not recognizing it. He broke it and opened the letter, shocked into stillness by what he found. Athos hovered, concern drifting off him in waves.

d'Artagnan swallowed past a lump in his throat. "This is my father's handwriting…"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I'll be fine."

Athos narrowed his eyes, but with gentle intent, at him. "I will be in the next room when you're finished. You will have your privacy. Then you will come and sit with me by the fire if you wish it. Don't ignore us when we're here for you. We came all this way not out of obligation to Treville. You're one of us, and no matter what you or the world tries to do, you always will be."

d'Artagnan nodded, for once in a long time feeling the truth behind the declaration and the truth of his own sincerity in accepting it. Athos left him by the stairs and d'Artagnan sat down on the bottom step as he began to read by his forgotten candle.

 _Charles, I have entrusted this to Jean in the chance that I am not able to be there for you myself. There is only one manner in which I suspect I could not be present for such an occasion as this, and if so I am sorry. Your mother was better with words than I. And if she were to see this day I wonder if perhaps once she would be silenced with happiness. You have been and always will be our whole world. This was always to be the plan, you entering the ranks of the military elite under Jean's tutelage. He is familiar with your type of inclination. You are not the first and have no need to fear discovery._

 _I hope we are entering a new age with this new king, one in which people are celebrated for their differences instead of being persecuted. If it is not so, I charge you here and now to be that day's champion. Your mother and I have taught you so since your birth and expect no less. Take this commission with pride, because this day vindicates everything your mother and I fought for, for you, for our friends, and for those who do not have a voice. It will not be an easy road, and as a parent I feel no guilt asking this of you because I know in my soul that you will have much success. Your mother and I will always be with you and shall always love you._

 _A house is a house, but a home is a home. If ever you find yourself destitute, remember that true and honest hearts are all you will ever need. –Your proud father_

d'Artagnan had only cried with the last few sentences. But the tears that came through were not of sadness. His father had known something like this would come to pass. Perhaps it had in some sense been inevitable and because of d'Artagnan's naivety under his father's protection he had been too blind to see it. But now he understood. And if anything, though his face was wet again by the time he joined Athos by the fire, he was most certainly not sad. His father's letter had lit a fire in him again, a fire of determination.

Athos gave him another smile.

* * *

They returned to Paris late in the evening. When they entered the garrison, Treville's office was dark. All four men dismounted, stabled their own horses and left for the evening, agreeing to reconvene first thing in the morning. Aramis and Porthos left for their own lodgings, and d'Artagnan started to climb the stairs to an empty room at the garrison. d'Artagnan could have gone to the Bonacieux's and asked for his old room back, but it was in the middle of the night and he had already left a note telling Constance he was moving back to Gascony. He wasn't looking forward to the tongue-lashing he'd get from her when she caught wind that he'd come back.

He was in the middle of planning his defense for the inevitable meeting when someone cleared their throat behind him. d'Artagnan was startled, but didn't show it when he turned around and found Athos right behind him. As Treville's lieutenant, Athos had a room set aside, but rarely used it unless he was sick or injured. The fact that he didn't return to his lodgings outside the garrison meant he didn't plan on drowning himself in drink, which for some odd reason made d'Artagnan feel hopeful.

"You may not welcome it," Athos began. "But if you ever find yourself in need of… another, I would be willing."

D'Artagnan frowned, hearing a double meaning. "What exactly are you offering me?"

Athos sighed uncomfortably. "Thetas have needs just like every other inclination on the spectrum. Repression, especially in your state is dangerous."

d'Artagnan took a deep breath, feeling the same anger and embarrassment from back in Gascony resurface. "That's… you mean to preach to me when you parade your own loneliness like a badge of honor?"

"There was a time when I knew the pains of such a state," Athos allowed. "I learned the hard way that needs must be taken care of and do not wish to see you suffer the same or worse. Repression can cause terrible deficiencies, even premature death-"

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I'm a Theta. Premature death is a promise."

Undeterred, Athos pressed on. "How long have you been alone?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I can tell that this is hurting you, that you are needlessly depriving yourself, and making yourself sick. You're exhausted, you're dragging your feet, you sweat a river's worth in a single day, and you look like a ghost. I won't say anything about your swordsmanship for your pride, but you are purposefully denying your own needs-"

"What," d'Artagnan snapped. "You'll come running to my bed, is that it? I don't need your pity, Athos-"

"It's not pity you damned fool," he hissed. "God almighty, you're like a brick wall! What I am offering you is not something I would object to." The heat from Athos' breath made him feel a little dizzy. "I offer nothing I do not first desire."

Before d'Artagnan could do anything, Athos snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a gentle kiss. It was insistent, entirely distracting, and intoxicating. When d'Artagnan started to come back to himself, he realized several things, in some order he no longer remembered. His back was against the wall next to the empty room he intended to claim for the night, he was entangled with Athos' limbs, his lips, and his tongue, and the smell of him was more than dominating, it was singing and melding and mixing with his own, bringing it back to life, fueling him and filling him in so many ways that he started to lose himself. He tried to find the power to dislodge himself, but found he was powerless. He should have been afraid, but all fear had been chased out of the light that Athos was churning in him.

Ultimately, Athos was the one who pulled back, resting his forehead against d'Artagnan's, their breath still mingling like embers from a dying fire. When d'Artagnan caught his breath, the fear started returning. He looked at Athos with a dawning horror and tried to move away, but the older man held him fast.

"Stop," Athos commanded quietly. "Look at me! Please. Look into my eyes. Do you see any regret?"

D'Artagnan grabbed either side of Athos' head and closed his eyes tight. "You don't understand!"

"Then help me!"

"Henri," d'Artagnan gasped. "My mother! My father! They're all dead because-"

"Because _what?!_ Because you breathe? Because you exist?"

"Every person I dare love-or care about dies! All I bring about is trouble and it always ends in death."

Athos kissed d'Artagnan on the forehead. "Then it is a good thing we court death on a daily basis, for that is something I am already well familiar with."

D'Artagnan felt the fight die in him when he looked at Athos. He always thought he and an alpha could never do anything but butt heads. And here Athos was, comforting him, dominating him humbly with… tenderness and care and love. All the things d'Artagnan had denied himself for so long. "Athos… I cannot ask this of you."

"You don't need to. Tell me the truth," Athos whispered. "How bad was your last heat cycle? Don't lie to me."

"I couldn't breathe. I think I passed out at some point. And when I woke I couldn't move for several hours. I had no sight. I thought I was dead. When I came back I couldn't stomach anything for two days. It was during my first solo mission. I would have arrived on time if it wasn't for that."

"So you being waylaid by bandits on the road was a lie?"

d'Artagnan nodded.

"You could have been killed," Athos hissed. "Or worse! Your own blood is poisoning you. You do realize that?"

"I know-"

"And what were you going to do about it, just hide away, die quietly, and leave us to find you in the morning-"

D'Artagnan shoved Athos away.

"I'm not sorry," Athos vowed. "Because that would have been a dagger to our hearts. One that I do not have the strength to bear."

"I didn't want to burden anyone…"

"You are _not_ a burden. And you cannot let another heat cycle pass unheeded. You could die. Others have pushed their limits before for the sake of some stupid attempt of a pleasure high, but it is dangerous and fatal if done repeatedly."

"What if it's been too long already? You'd be endangering yourself for nothing."

Athos shook his head. "What am I to do with you? Must I spell it out one letter at a time?"

D'Artagnan frowned. He pulled back when Athos approached him once more, but gave in when Athos shushed him and pulled his lips into a sudden and faster dance than their first. "If all we had was a single hour, I would cherish that memory until the end of my days with pride, honor, and God forgive me perhaps a sliver of happiness for once in this wretched life. You have held this special place in my heart since the moment we met. I couldn't hate you when I awaited my imminent death. All I could do was mourn the time we would never get to share. Until now, I did not know of a way to tell you because I did not know how to believe it myself… you will let me know when it comes next?"

d'Artagnan bit his bottom lip in thought, but released it when Athos pulled it free with his thumb, caressing the light damage done to it. "If it is to be my last-"

"Which it won't," Athos promised.

"But if it is… it would make me happy to spend it with you."

Athos smiled before kissing him one final time that night, intent on leaving an impression. "Good."

* * *

 **A/N: And from here on out, shit hits the fan. So, prepare yourselves! Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for the next chapter within the next couple of weeks. I may actually be able to keep this relatively short after all. Fingers crossed!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

_The next morning…_

"Alright, alright," d'Artagnan answered, throwing on a shirt for decency. He yanked open the door to his room and glared, but quickly retracted it seeing as it had been Athos who had been pounding on his door before the sun was up. Regarding the man's serious countenance, d'Artagnan held fast any sass he so desperately wanted to give. "What is it?"

Athos sighed after taking in his state of dress. "You have an audience with the king this morning."

d'Artagnan felt the color drain from his face. "Wh… Why?-"

"If we knew, you would as well. Get dressed," Athos ordered before turning to leave. "We'll leave shortly."

"Athos," he called. The man stopped but didn't turn around. "Is this about-"

"Your foolish decision to abandon the regiment," Athos finished for him. Then he turned around, but didn't meet d'Artagnan's worried gaze. "I don't know. It is very possible, but with Treville being so tight-lipped about it, it gives me cause to hope that it is not that severe. He would tell us if it were."

d'Artagnan leaned against the side of his doorway and crossed his arms against the morning chill. "That's not all that comforting…"

Athos looked up and down both ends of the hallway, then quickly crossed to d'Artagnan and shared a chaste kiss, his hand cradling the side of his face and lingering. d'Artagnan grabbed that hand before it retreated and placed a warm kiss to his palm. It smelled faintly of cedar, mostly of horse, and something else that instantly put him at ease. He hoped he wasn't taking any liberties with Athos, but given how his eyes softened and he lingered longer than was truly necessary after telling him to "Hurry up," d'Artagnan was happy to have guessed correctly.

The memory of the previous night's activities in the hallway made heat travel to regions that would make dressing difficult. As he shrugged into his uniform and strapped on his weapons he couldn't help but wonder how he was going to ride next to Athos, much less stand next to him in the king's presence and remain unaffected. As he descended the stairs and made for the stables he had briefly forgotten that he and Athos wouldn't be the only ones going before the king. Treville regarded him with narrow eyes from atop his mount and d'Artagnan tried not to swallow his nervousness too obviously.

In record time, d'Artagnan, Athos, and Treville were standing in the audience chamber awaiting the king. d'Artagnan did his best not to fidget but more than once found Athos glaring at him to get a hold of himself. After being quietly shunned by his village, nearly killed by an old friend, and outed to his brothers, an audience with the king just seemed like icing on top of the proverbial cake. He'd barely had a day to come to terms with it all and he desperately needed time to simply think things through.

At five past eight the doors at the back of the chamber opened with a thud. The king entered with a loud yawn while the Cardinal trailed behind him in all his religious doom and gloom pomposity. Notably absent was the Queen, which made d'Artagnan's stomach sink. If there were to be any battle of wits this morning it would be solely between Treville and Richelieu, which depending on the time of day and the king's temperament, was always a crapshoot.

Treville sighed at catching sight of the Cardinal. "I could have had you shot for desertion, you know," he muttered to d'Artagnan.

d'Artagnan felt some gooseflesh erupt on the back of his neck. "You still could."

Treville gave him a half smile. "And ruin the entertainment? I think not."

As they bowed, d'Artagnan gave into the urge to give Treville some side-eye. Athos would smack him upside the head for it later, but d'Artagnan was never one to let something said at his expense go without a response. His father raised him that way, after all.

Louis gave a dismissive wave and verbal acknowledgement as he yawned again and stepped up to flop his body down on his regal cushioned seat. "Treville."

"Majesty," Treville greeted with a smile as he rose.

As Athos and d'Artagnan rose the Cardinal scoffed and sneered, "Shouldn't you be on your knees, boy?"

"If his Majesty commands it," d'Artagnan replied.

Louis made a noncommittal noise and gave another dismissive wave, which gave them a little hope for the proceedings. "There's no need. I trust d'Artagnan understands the gravity with which he was called here."

d'Artagnan swallowed, but answered firm and clear. "I do, Majesty."

"Good," Louis replied, waving a servant over with a tea tray. "Get on with it then, Armand."

Richelieu gave d'Artagnan a smug glare before producing some long worded and official court documents from a portfolio. "Charles d'Artagnan, you were recently granted a commission amongst the king's musketeers. You attempted to resign your commission and before such approval was granted you deserted your regiment which by law is punishable by-"

"Yes, yes, yes," Louis interrupted with a bored and tired tone as he sipped his tea. "We all know the facts, Armand. What I want to know is _why_. Why did my champion choose to rescind his commission?"

Being under the strong eyes of his monarch, d'Artagnan was suddenly struck dumb. He could feel the atmosphere in the air changing, undulating, as if indecisive as to which way to steer his fate this time. He had only felt the air around him this uncertain few times before in his life. That he was cognizant of it now meant something irrevocable was about to happen, and the fact that he couldn't string together two coherent words did not bode well.

"Circumstance, sire," Treville jumped in. "Unfortunate circumstance. d'Artagnan's farm was among those burned in Gascony by Monsieur LaBarge."

"Had he said such I would have seen him properly compensated for his losses," Louis replied, undeterred. "But given his character, I doubt he would abandon his King for such petty reasons…"

d'Artagnan cleared his throat quietly and prayed to God that he wouldn't sound like the immature boy he'd been trying to prove to the entire garrison he wasn't since his first day when he challenged Athos. "Your Majesty had already granted me what I had been dreaming about since I was a boy," he said, defending Treville's point. "Asking for more seemed a grievous offense after such a gift."

Louis made another non-committal noise. "More grievous than abandoning me?"

In truth it wasn't. He couldn't even say it had been half the reason. His farm had been the excuse to hide the truth. He couldn't very well admit the truth to the king and damn himself to execution, but neither could he outright lie. It went against everything his father had taught him. He didn't dare look to Treville or Athos for guidance. It was his conscience and his honor that was being questioned. "No, Majesty," he admitted. "It was not. I… I feared… I feared my… inexperience would endanger the regiment, and you."

This time, Louis made a noise of mild surprise. "I believe that's the first time I've heard someone refer to their inclination as inexperience. What of you, Armand?"

"I cannot adequately say considering I have never encountered a _Theta_ before, sire."

d'Artagnan froze. The urge to run was blinding. His lips parted in shock to take in desperately needed air, but he suddenly forgot how. But then Atho's hands were on either of his shoulders, grounding him, and forcing him to breathe properly. He could feel Athos' scent brush up behind him, subtle enough to be overlooked by the king and cardinal, but by the look Treville shared with Athos, his reputation for a hawk was not unfounded. "Don't give in," Athos said in his ear. "I know what it feels like, but don't run. You'll make this worse if you do."

Treville glared at the Cardinal an only gave his two men one glance before approaching Richelieu. "I believe you are losing your skill of tact, Cardinal," he hissed. "That was hardly necessary!"

Richelieu rolled his eyes, the smirk still irritatingly on his lips. "Please, Captain. If he cannot withstand his own nature at the prospect of being outted, then this whole charade is moot. He'll experience far worse in the company of an enemy who knows how to spot a Theta."

"Breathe," Athos said in d'Artagnan's ear. "Control it. I know you can…"

He reigned in his terror and scent as best he could. Gradually, his vision cleared and the occupants of the room came into sharper clarity. He felt the tension seep out of his muscles, but Athos kept a firm hold on him to prevent him from swaying. He lowered his eyes in shame and turned slightly to Athos. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I still can't... control the instinct."

"In time you will," Athos whispered back. "For now, face what's left knowing we're by your side. I can't believe this audience was meant to condemn you."

"Indeed it was not," the king's voice reverberated off the walls. Louis stood from his seat, and descended from the dais. Coming before his two musketeers he huffed some laughter at the wide-eyed look of surprise in his champion. "You forget the gifts I have been bestowed of my own nature," he said tapping his ears. "I do very much enjoy playing the fool to my courtiers, but not to my men."

"Yes, Majesty," d'Artagnan replied, managing to stand up straighter on his own.

"Your arrival," Louis continued. "And appointment among my ranks of musketeers is timely, d'Artagnan. I would be a fool indeed if I did not make use of you where you can best serve me. War with Spain has been looming for years, and should it come to fruition I would have you at my side as my most trusted advisor. I would be a fool otherwise to assume no inclination was adept at duplicity. The unfortunate reality of my nature is I am too trusting. As a king, I must be. My unmatchable first minister advises me in worldly politics. My most trusted Captain of the Musketeers advises me in military means. What I need is someone to advise me when it comes to the baser natures of men, and how best to predict or influence what may come."

"I do not know much of war, sire," d'Artagnan weakly protested. "I've barely broken in my pauldron."

"True, but in a few months I think you will look to this moment and say you were wrong to doubt your king's faith in you."

"Majesty I-"

"Don't apologize," Louis reprimanded. "But don't abandon me again. I need someone like you for all the qualities you possess, d'Artagnan. Especially the qualities you cannot show outside these halls. You will not abandon me again, will you?"

"If I may add,Majesty?" Treville asked. When Louis inclined his head, Treville leveled his gaze with his youngest recruit. "You were always meant for a military life, d'Artagnan. Your father even confessed as much to me before his untimely passing. But to distinguish yourself so early, and in front of his majesty, no less, is a feat not many of your kind have accomplished with such clarity and focus. Thetas typically need a decade of training to have a fraction of the restraint you showed that day against LaBarge."

"And much as I am loathe to admit it," Richelieu added. "We are most in need of someone to suss out such enemies my nature will not allow me to otherwise."

Athos stiffened by d'Artagnan's side. "You speak of traitors at court, Your Eminence?"

"An entire network of them is our fear. Some of which may even have penetrated your ranks… and mine," Richelieu said through his teeth. "It is most grating, and therefore a matter of the utmost seriousness to which I admit my resources sadly lacking at this time."

"There's always a first time for everything," Treville quipped.

The Cardinal gave Treville a look that would have melted steel.

Louis cleared his throat, quietly. "You did not answer my question, d'Artagnan…"

d'Artagnan took a moment to still his thoughts. Traitors amongst court would have been inevitable with war looming, and from a tactitian's standpoint, it would only make sense for a network of them to be most effective. But the idea that they had already infiltrated the musketeers _and_ the Red Guard was worrisome. d'Artagnan was no fool. For the Cardinal to admit the breach in his own ranks was grave news enough. Though d'Artagnan bore the Cardinal no warmth of heart, the fact that he would need to aid the Cardinal to aid the security of the king made what he now had to do all the easier.

"If your Majesty can somehow forgive my transgression against you," d'Artagnan said, kneeling in front of his king. "And the musketeer regiment… I will gladly never leave your side until you bid me do so. I will serve you as faithfully and steadfast as I am able to in what life is granted to me."

"Excellent," Louis smiled, turning and heading toward the door. "This matter is settled to my liking. Armand if you will settle the details, I will have my letters and paperwork sent to me in the gardens. It is too crisp and beautiful a day not to enjoy."

They all bowed as the king exited the room, with servants dashing after him and toward the office to comply with his sudden change of venue plans for his morning's work.

The Cardinal offered a tight smile to Treville as he handed the captain a missive with the seal of the king. "I trust I need not repeat any of these details to you, Captain?"

"I am a man of exceptional hearing and intelligence, such as yourself," Treville replied, taking the offered missive and stowing it in his breast pocket.

"Don't flatter yourself," Richelieu said with a strange glint in his eyes before he turned and exited the room. "And don't think for a moment this changes anything between us."

As they exited the main audience chamber and made their way back to the front gates, d'Artagnan finally let the gravity of all that occurred fall on his shoulders. The weight and enormity of it all made him stumble and nearly fall into an undignified heap on the expensive marble floors of the hallway. Luckily, Athos anticipated his reaction and grabbed him by the arm to keep him upright. Treville grabbed his other arm and between the both of them coaching him to put one foot in front of the other, they made it back to their horses without further embarrassment. Before d'Artagnan mounted his horse he glanced back up at the palace and saw the cardinal looking down at him from a window. Though he had the protection and official sanction of the king surrounding him, he knew better than to think he was now without enemies.

A hand clapping on his shoulder was what finally broke him from the cardinal's pull. Athos was there, sending a brief glare of his own up at Richelieu. Then he leaned close and whispered in d'Artagnan's ear, "He'll chain you over my dead body."

"He _would_ try…"

"He won't even get close. Mount up. Don't give him the satisfaction."

As they rode their horses out of the gate d'Artagnan couldn't get past the heavy pit in his stomach. He'd teased Athos time and again about his political prowess. Now, d'Artagnan had been thrown into the fray without preamble or without an article of clothing to give him the smallest of comforts. How was a farm boy from Gascony expected to understand much less advise the king of France?

To say Aramis and Porthos were shocked after everything was recounted would have been an understatement.

"Does this afford him noble standing," Aramis asked.

"Of a sort," Treville answered. "He'll receive a monthly monetary fund from the king. He'll be expected to attend court functions on a more permanent basis. The only things d'Artagnan won't be afforded are lands and an official title."

"Because of the secrecy and low-life expectancy," d'Artagnan elaborated.

Treville sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. But you'll be reporting to no one other than the king himself. I and the Cardinal will know nothing about the sensitive information or any possible _tidings_ you may deliver on the king's behalf. Not just anyone is granted this honor, d'Artagnan."

"That's a lot of trust to place in one inclination," d'Artagnan stated.

"Thetas have frequently worked alone in the past, but having a team of support is not unheard of, and not something I think the king would deny."

d'Artagnan frowned. "Team?"

"You don't think we'd let you go off to Spain or England alone to have all the fun now do you," Porthos asked.

"But-"

"We did ride all the way to Gascony and back," Athos drawled with a pointed look. "I would very much appreciate _not_ having to do it again."

"But, no," d'Artagnan protested. "I don't want things to be different than they were before…"

"You will make a fine leader," Athos began to argue.

"But not now! Not when all this is so new and… I feel I have much more to learn, and I don't feel ready for such a heavy responsibility. Not yet."

Treville sighed. "I thought you might not. You will have to report to the king alone, but if it would ease your spirit, Athos can take the lead as he's done before?"

"If that is what you wish," Athos said. "I will, however, assert the same authority. You must be willing to follow my orders when I give them, even if you don't like them or disagree with them. I will listen to your counsel, but should you disobey a direct order this arrangement will be voided. Is that clear?"

d'Artagnan nodded. "Yes. If it means things stay as they were before, then yes."

"This is no stake on our friendship," Aramis said with a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "We're still brothers. No matter what stupidity you find yourself in."

And Porthos gave d'Artagnan a funny look. "You being a Theta… that how you cheated me at cards last week?"

d'Artagnan deadpanned. "No."

Porthos snorted and shook his head. It may have seemed inconsequential to everyone else, but it was that reaction that convinced d'Artagnan that things may not have spiraled completely out of his grasp yet.

Treville picked up the missive with the royal seal on it. "I know all four of you just returned but I have something very important that needs to be delivered today. Its secrecy is paramount and its delivery vital. It cannot be compromised, but if it somehow is I want it destroyed. This cannot end up in the wrong hands, be it a roadside raider or God forbid the Cardinal."

Athos took the missive and placed it in the inside pocket of his doublet.

"Take it to Cherbourg," Treville instructed. "Deliver it to an English priest at St. Andre's. His name is Daniel Gaines. See that he makes it aboard the Aberdeen and that it casts off without incident. Inspect every member of that crew before they leave port. The king doesn't like the idea of extending an olive branch, to England of all countries, but the last thing he wants is to suffer a public embarrassment. Gaines knows how to handle himself, but the more aide we can give him on our own soil the better."

Aramis frowned. "Wouldn't the Cardinal want peace if it's in France's interests?"

"The Cardinal wants war, but in his soul he doesn't want it with Spain. To concede to a country that's been France's bitterest enemy for the last five hundred years to him is the same as admitting defeat. England is the head he is truly after, and he will look to this as an opportunity to prove that to the king."

Porthos turned up his nose and shrugged. "Ain't nothin' new."

"You would think he would change tactics after so many attempts to throw us under the carriage," Aramis sighed. "It's growing quite predictable."

"He very well may have different plans," Treville warned. "Be alert. And stay away from Inns along the way if you can manage it. Trust no one but yourselves."

"Consider it done," Athos said tipping his hat before starting out the door. d'Artagnan followed after him with Aramis and Porthos behind. The trio descended the stairs, but for one moment d'Artagnan allowed himself the chance to take in the morning air. He didn't have to hide anymore. He could, within reason, finally be fully himself without repercussion among his brothers. It had been all he'd ever wanted since he was a young boy first dealing with his developing inclination. He felt like a fool for doubting his brothers after everything had been said and done. He'd been forgiven. He was still wanted, despite what he was.

That thought alone lifted his heart higher than it had been since he had first set off for Paris with his father all those months ago.

It made him smile.

He descended the stairs with light feet.

Until he landed at the bottom with a glaring Constance right in front of him.

"Constance," d'Artagnan started.

Without saying a word, Constance slapped him hard across the face. Aramis and Porthos winced but kept their distance. Athos simply rolled his eyes, completely unsympathetic. Constance didn't bat an eyelash as d'Artagnan brought a hand up to massage the side of his stinging face. Then she pulled a familiar change purse out of her pocket and threw it at d'Artagnan who barely had time enough to gather his wits and catch the object.

"You can keep your stupid money," she spat. "And seeing as how these idiots brought you to your senses, you'll be needing it, because you certainly will not be paying me back-rent that I specifically forgave. Seeing as how you don't trust me to be a woman of my word or a woman who can fend for herself, you can find yourself better lodgings, _musketeer_."

Constance turned on her heel and stormed out of the garrison, with d'Artagnan shouting an apology after her. The boy made to follow her, but Athos held him back.

"Leave her be," he said. "Her tempers usually burn out in a couple of days."

"I'm not so sure about this one," the boy muttered.

"Don't worry about it whelp," Porthos said slapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "Come on. Road's gonna be a long one."

"What did you say to incite her so," Aramis asked as he made to pass d'Artagnan on his way to the stables.

"Bonacieux is borrowing more than they can afford. And they need a new roof. I may have given her the last of my earnings to put towards it."

Aramis winced. "And we all know how Constance is with accepting someone else's money…"

"At the time I thought it wouldn't matter. I didn't plan on returning to Paris anytime soon, if ever."

"Then it is good we corrected you of such foolishness," Athos said with a raised brow.

* * *

After the incident at the garrison, it was easy to keep his attention on the road.

For the first five miles.

After that, d'Artagnan had a hard time keeping his eyes off Athos. He was trying to keep things subtle for Aramis and Porthos's sakes, but suspected they already knew of what had transpired. Keeping scents separate after something as simple as a kiss…or several was not easy for any inclination to hide. He just hoped for Athos' sake they would keep their teasing to a minimum. He knew how Athos bristled and retreated into himself at a light personal jest.

When they stopped for the night to make camp he was startled by a thought as he tended to the fire.

He wasn't completely taken by surprise at being told he had the power to manipulate others. He'd known he had that power since he was young. In fact, on several occasions he'd had to make use of it with village bullies. Once he'd even tried to influence his mother into giving him dessert he had been forbidden as punishment for bad behavior. Of course, once his father caught wind of it he'd gotten a very stern lecture and a few swats for the lesson to stick. He'd been young then, but to this day he remembered the underlying fear that made his father's voice tremble. At the time he thought his father was simply enraged at what d'Artagnan had done, but looking back on it now he understood that it was both anger and fear.

And for good reasons.

d'Artagnan had been afraid of it, and most conscious of it whenever among those he cared for most. To think he might have bent someone to his will without their consent was sickening.

And as he stared across the fire at Athos laying out his pallet for the night he thought back to what they shared with a sinking feeling. Could he have influenced Athos' feelings on the matter without knowing it? The very thought made him want to wretch. He had felt the pull of the alpha in their early days. But if he was truly honest with himself, he couldn't remember if he'd ever felt the scent of attraction from Athos before all of this happened. He wanted Athos, badly. He'd never dared to voice it, and had spent plenty of nights before this with himself in hand and thoughts of unmentionable acts and positions in his mind. If the extent of his repression had actually caused this to erupt between them, d'Artagnan would never forgive himself.

To ask Athos about it would do no good. If he was already under d'Artagnan's base influence, he couldn't trust anything Athos could say or do. Only the coming days would prove to him if d'Artagnan had ruined things or not.

* * *

 **A/N: Had to entirely rewrite this chapter multiple times. And like it says on my profile, had to shake off the cobwebs after leaving a shitty job I've had the past year and a half. Apologies for the wait. The way things are progressing, I'm thinking this will be a 10 chapters or less kind of story. I've also already got a sequel planned ;)**


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